


It matters, it matters not

by unknownlifeform



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Conversations, Family Issues, Gen, Past Character Death, unbetaed doesn't really cover it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25593130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknownlifeform/pseuds/unknownlifeform
Summary: Maeglin receives a visit from a cousin he once hurt deeply. Earendil brings many questions, and maybe an answer.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	It matters, it matters not

**Author's Note:**

> I have yet to read something exploring a possible meeting between these two after Maeglin' re-embodiment and I was in need of it (if you have written about it, sorry I missed it, and also I'd love to check it out)  
> Also this isn't edited - I wrote it down in basically one go and just checked for typos/basic grammar. It's an experiment of sorts

“Lómion, you have visits.”

Maeglin had guessed that. From his room, he had heard his mother talk with someone, a male voice he did not recognize, had heard their steps coming closer.

Lots of people had visited him since his rebirth. More than he would have expected, really. Turgon’s visit had been especially bad, his uncle saying things about how ‘I should have realized you were hurting’ and ‘I’m sorry I didn’t do better by you’ until Maeglin had wanted to scream. And then all those relatives of his mother’s, which were also Maeglin’s own relatives, technically. All very kind and well-meaning, trying to bond with him, to assure him he could one day also be one of the family, so long as he never showed up to family reunions when Idril was also invited.

He was tired of visitors. He would have very much wanted to yell at whoever it was to just go away, but his mother’s brow was pinched in a way that told Maeglin this was someone important.

“Let them in, then,” he said. He did not stand up from his bed, but pushed himself up in a sitting position. Not very courteous, perhaps, to receive guests while sitting, but Maeglin was not in the mood to be a good hosts.

His mother nodded, and stepped back, to let in whoever had come here.

Maeglin’s lips parted in surprise when he saw the guest.

For a brief, delirious second, he wondered if Tuor had finally decided to give him a piece of his mind. Maeglin knew he was still alive, somehow, some Valar magic slowing down his aging. He and Idril had sent Maeglin a letter saying he had to keep himself well away from them, but perhaps Tuor’s resentment towards him had been too strong to not look for some kind of revenge.

Then Maeglin realized that no, this was not Tuor. His hair was the right color, and his beard unusual for an Elf, and his features had something distinctly Mannish, but it wasn’t Idril’s husband Maeglin was looking at.

“Maeglin. It’s been quite a while,” his guest said, just as Maeglin managed to piece together who was speaking to him.

“…Eärendil?” he whispered.

“Struggling to recognize me, _uncle?_ ”

Maeglin didn’t think he could be blamed for that. Eärendil had been a child in their last, tragic meeting, barely reaching Maeglin’s knee. Now he was taller than his parents had ever been,  and his shoulders were broad with muscle. 

“I did not expect you would come find me,” Maeglin said.

A frown was fixed on Eärendil’s face. “Why?” he asked, voice bitter.

“Will you have me retell our last encounter?”

“I’m not afraid of you, if that is what you are saying,” Eärendil said. “I’m not a child anymore, and you cannot hurt me now.”

It was a somewhat childish thing to say, in Maeglin’s opinion. Maeglin used to be one of the best warriors in Gondolin, and Eärendil was, as far as Maeglin could tell, unarmed.  Eärendil was no doubt able to fight back now, but Maeglin would still be able to harm him if he wanted.

It sounded like the sort of thing Maeglin might have said to his father, if he ever was to meet him again.  _You cannot hurt me now. I’m strong, and I have no reason to fear you._

It left a foul taste in Maeglin’s mouth. He had been a child once, and he had seen one he had loved try to kill him. He knew what it felt like, to see a relative turn against you and your mother in hatred and anger. That same father had named him Maeglin, and Maeglin he still was after death and rebirth, and it was not hard for him to notice how Eärendil held himself, arms crossed, back straight and tense.  Some things were hard to erase, no matter how tall and strong one grew.

Yet another  similarity in Maeglin’s actions and Eöl’s. 

He lowered his gaze, unable to look at his young cousin, who once used to look up at him with a wide, child smile and call him uncle. “What do you want, Eärendil? To tell me of your hatred for me?”

“My hatred? No, hatred is an ugly beast, and I try not to entertain it too much. I resent you, yes, but I must confess I hate you less than some would think is appropriate. Not nearly as much as my mother does, if only because she remembers you much better than I do. But I’m sure she already let you know that.”

“She was most eloquent about it in the letter she sent me, yes. She also mentioned how she’d use me as a target for her archery practice if I ever came close to you.”

“Consider yourself safe from that threat, as I was the one to look for you,” Eärendil said. He took the chair in front of Maeglin’s desk, and sat down on it. Uninvited, but Maeglin was not going to argue about proper manners. “And I did it because there is something I want to know.”

“What is it?”

Eärendil swallowed. “ Why did you sell Gondolin out?”

M aeglin frowned, eyes on Eärendil’s crossed arms. “Why? Has no one told you that tale before?”

“Perhaps I want to hear it from you. Or perhaps I simply don’t believe that was all there is to it.”

“And what is it you were told is there?”

“I was told you desired my mother, but she did not love you the way you wanted. She saw evil in you, or so she told me. And in the end she was the price you asked of Morgoth in exchange for the city.”

“Yes, sounds like what they would say about me,” Maeglin said, feeling his lips twist in something that was not quite a smile.

“And is it true?”

“Does it matter? Will anything ever justify what I did in your eyes?”

“Dammit, Maeglin! Will you answer me or not?”

Maeglin closed his eyes. It didn’t matter what he said, it would never be reason enough. He knew it now, after all that waiting around in Mandos. He could not even justify his own actions to himself, let alone any of the people he had hurt.

Asking him to explain was as pointless as going to Eöl to ask why he had hunted his wife and son like animals would be. Maeglin had wondered many times, and none of the possible reasons had ever seemed enough in his mind.

He also knew he would want the man who had thrown a poisoned spear at him to explain why.

“I loved your mother, and I resented that she chose your father rather than me. And yes, I was promised her hand in exchange for Gondolin. That much is true. And I supposed-” he snorted “-I suppose Idril did see evil in me, or at least she thought she did. I will not sit here and argue about whether she was right or wrong, but I will say any evil I had grew long after I reached Gondolin.”

He could not help the anger slipping in his words at the last sentence. Yes, Idril had been right to avoid him,  _in the end_ , and no doubt she thought she had seen hints of his future evil in him since the moment they had met. Whatever evil can a child hold, Maeglin didn’t know. His mother was killed by his father, his father was thrown off a mountain, he was alone in a strange city and the only things he had were the clothes he wore and the sword of his mother’s murderer. Scared and alone, and with all of Gondolin looking at him with either pity or scorn.

He wondered sometimes if his feelings would have turned so bitter had Idril been a friend and cousin to him, if she had ever hid his mistrust of him. Even before she knew him, she had thought him like his father.

He hated how right he had proved her.

He took a deep breath. “I imagine all the people in Gondolin who liked to whisper behind my back felt justified when I eventually turned against them.”

“You were respected in Gondolin.”

“Respected? Eventually. After years spent fighting for it. After people stopped seeing me as just the strange, half Avari nephew of the King.”

“Strange and half-Avari?” Eärendil said, disbelief in his voice. “I am half- _Man_ , if you forgot, and I was plenty strange for many Elves. Forgive me if I don’t see how that would be so hard.”

“Ah, I know very well what blood you have. Son of the beloved Princess and of the one who was chosen by Ulmo himself. Did you know there were already people likening your parents’ union to that of Beren and Lúthien, when they married? I don’t remember your father attempting to kill you, or claiming you and Idril as his property. I have heard more talk of the dark arts Eöl must have used to trick my mother to marry him against his will than I ever wished to.”

“So because people were _mean_ to you you condemned them all to their deaths?”

“Let’s see this another way. I was captured, taken to Angband, and dragged to Morgoth, who asked me to tell him where Gondolin was. And he knew how to be _very_ persuasive. He told me he would make me ruler of Gondolin and give me Idril as wife, _amongst other things_. I was tortured, and then told me not only would my torments end if I gave him what he wanted, he would also give _me_ what I wanted most. And the fact people used to be mean to me, as you put it, sped up the process. Is this enough to answer your questions?”

Eärendil stayed silent for a while. Maeglin glanced up at his face, finding it pinched and darkened by anger. He was not looking at Maeglin. 

“Others endured those torments,” Eärendil said eventually.

“I imagine I am weaker than others,” Maeglin replied, not without a certain self loathing. He knew well how many heroes were in his family, who had fought back against Morgoth and not caved to his tortures. 

“And where did I fit in the agreement?”

Ah. The real question.  Eärendil’s jaw was tight.  _Why me?_

“You did not. You were but a reminder of a union I hated.”

Eärendil’s head turned to him, and Maeglin forced himself to hold the weight of his eyes. “I remember little of Gondolin, you know? I was too young for it. I remember the fall, and you trying to rip me from my mother’s hands. But I also remember you used to let me sit on your shoulders, before you betrayed us. I saw it in too many dreams for it to be just imagination.”

Maeglin nodded. “You were rather obsessed with that. Not five minutes passed without you asking someone to pick you up.” He could see it with his mind’s eye, the toddler running around with his arms outstretched, looking for an adult who would let him watch the world from above.

And also that little face, stained with tears and snot. Eärendil looking at Maeglin with utmost confusion and betrayal in his eyes, too young to understand what was happening, why was uncle hurting him. Maeglin had almost hesitated then, but then anger had fueled him  to continue. How dare Tuor’s little spawn make Maeglin feel sorry for him.

It hadn’t truly been Eärendil the anger had been directed at, but at the time it had been easier to think it was.

“I was a child.”

“And I am sorry,” Maeglin said. “I turned my anger to you, when you had done nothing to offend me. I regret that. But I don’t think telling you will change your feelings.”

Ripping his teeth out would have been easier than speak those words. Maeglin had never been good at apologizing in his first life, and even more he hated doing so now, when he had ruined the lives of more people than he could count.

“You are right, it doesn’t. Words are easy to say, and you have been told a liar many times. Regardless of when it put roots, there was evil in you, and even if Mandos released you I find it hard to think you changed.”

There wasn’t much Maeglin could say to that. He was well aware his words would never be enough to erase his deeds. It would take him years and decades of work for people to stop seeing him as simply a monster, more work than he had ever had to do to gain acceptance in Gondolin. 

“That being said,” Eärendil turned, and slipped his hand into a large pouch he kept tied to his waist, “you can give me proof of your good intentions.”

“And h-”

The whole room shone with light when Eärendil took out a jewel. Something that looked like a necklace, with a bright gem cast into it.

“Is that a Silmaril?” Maeglin whispered, even if the answer was obvious. He had seen two of them before, cast on Morgoth’s crown.

Nothing  else  he had ever see n could compare, and he had lived side by side with some of the greatest Elven smiths of Beleriand. Nothing forged in Gondolin or in the depths of Nan Elmoth  even came close .

Eärendil stretched his arms out, holding the necklace, letting the gem dangle in front of Maeglin. “Touch it.”

“What?”

“Touch it. I’m sure you know of the magic of these gems.”

Maeglin did. Any evil would be scorched and burnt, marred forever. He remembered Morgoth’s hands, blackened as they were, his fingers nothing but bone and sinew after all the flesh had been destroyed.

Maeglin saw his own hands that way. He could even imagine the scent. Námo had decided to be merciful with him, forgave his crimes, but had he truly erased them from Maeglin’s soul? He did those all those things, and no amount of time in the Halls would ever change that. He was sorry, truly and deeply sorry, but was that enough? 

Can’t evil feel sorry too, sometimes?

“Touch. It. And I will know if you truly regret your actions,” Eärendil said.

Maeglin didn’t know either. Or rather, he knew his own feelings well enough, but he couldn’t tell if he could be considered good now. There could still be a touch of that somewhere, in the depths of his heart, one even he wasn’t aware of. 

What better way to find an answer to that question once and for all?

Quick as a snake, Maeglin darted his hand out. The tips of his finger touched the gem for only a moment, so fast one might believe he hadn’t actually done it, if not for the way the Silmaril started swinging on his chain.

No fire. The gem was rather cool, actually. Maeglin’s fingers were unharmed, no sign of burns on them. He looked down at his hand, and even he struggled to believe what he was seeing.

Eärendil remained still a few more seconds, and then drew back. “I see. In this case, I will accept your apology.”

“You-”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I have not forgiven you yet. I still cannot see why you would allow Morgoth to destroy Gondolin.” He stood up, putting the necklace back in the pouch he had taken it from. It was so dark with the Silmaril covered. “But I believe you if you say you are sorry.”

“Thank you,” Maeglin said, not knowing what for.

“I will go now. It’s only a couple hours until sunset, and I have to sail all night. Goodbye, Maeglin. May this life be better than your last.”

Maeglin remained sitting on the bed, looking at the door Eärendil closed behind himself. He should open the window, perhaps. He had not changed air in his room since the morning.

Yet breathing had become much lighter.


End file.
